Tainted Hearts
by Chrissy Renee Pinto
Summary: Micheal catches up with Gretchen! Please R and R!
1. Chapter 1

Beauty is only skin deep

**Loved the interaction between Michael and Gretchen in season three! My biggest wish is that they either get together or get in some serious combat situation. Give a chance for Michael's dark side to surface! Worked hard on it so the longer I go without reviews, the sadder I'll be!**

_Beauty is only skin deep_

_But the skin is not yours to keep_

_It is a façade _

_To conceal the filth beneath._

Gretchen scrutinized her reflection in the opal glass; there was no mistaking the beauty of the woman staring back at her. She had probably everything most women had to buy to attain; luscious lips, luxurious midnight hair and an incredibly sexy hourglass figure.

Her most attractive feature was her eyes, gleaming an exotic cerulean. Many have compared them to the twinkling sea that the travel advertisement boast about when enticing people to visit tropical locations. Truthfully, her eyes didn't even excite her during the day. They were beautiful but a deeper search would reveal nothing worthy. Nevertheless, she was stunning; Men would be flocking around her that evening. Men who would stalk her with their big cars, limitless credit cars, all promising a lavish lifestyle with a singular universal demand from her. Though she looked the part she doubted her body was capable of satisfying anybody anymore. Too ravaged and debilitated by the worst of human nature, any residual humanity left was a struggle to retain even more so in her line of work. If there was any humanity even remaining in a few years it would trickle away like blood from a cut vein but there would be no mourning or any pain. Rising to her feet with a shimmer of silk she let her hands trace her supple curves that the dress clung to. Fleetingly, she wondered if the beauty made her appear too perfect or so perfect she was obscuring her true self.

_Eyes perceive what the wearer wants_

_Show others what they need to see_

_Humanity is pure contemplation_

_Of how to connect the above three!_

Regardless, if she was truly honest with herself; she couldn't bring herself to care. It wasn't the tortured despair of a pathetic neglected human being .She was a realist, for the most part she was in charge of her life and when it came down to it ,her life could be lost as easy as a 100 dollar bill on a black jack table.

Leaning forward, she plucked an elegant bottle from the dresser and sprayed a few drops of perfume on her wrists. Immediately, a tart expensive aroma with a distinct French scent surrounded her like a comfy blanket. Her hands caught her eyes, cared for with manicures and special oils so they resembled a work of art. The crimson nail polish winked at her under the shinning lamps, complementing her peaches and cream complexion. Nonetheless, there was the knowledge that if cornered the sharpened nails would swiftly attack the eyeballs, clawing them out until her hands were soaked with hot, crimson liquid. The survival instinct thrummed steadily in her head almost consistent with her beating heart, besides keeping her body alive it served no other purpose.

_A reason for living _

_Basic human need_

_Without one_

_Who can hope to succeed!_

A sleek, lissome leg stretched out to place a thin heel on the chair, through a slit that rose almost to her hip. Reaching between the folds she stroked her favorite knife buried in the sheath attached to the inside of her thigh, always a part of her. Experience was an old and wise teacher, trained to always be prepared; she learnt to depend on her instincts.

In the beautiful, lavish party she would descend to there would linger the stench of blood followed her and coagulated the air. Only the stupidly naïve couldn't smell it or were too wrapped up in themselves that they thought they could escape or maybe James and Mahone were toying with her. She had no qualms that Michael Scofield would kill her to avenge Sara's murder; the penalty fell on her if she gave him the chance. He may have outmaneuvered her on more than one occasion but she was damned (pun intended) if she was going to allow him to amuse himself with her life.

She posed before the mirror admiring the gorgeous gown with its vibrant scarlet color that concealed her necessary clandestine aspects and accentuated her eye-catching features. _'If I died tonight, it would almost be ironic_!'

_Every soul has a reason to cry_

_Heart will bleed from a vein_

_A body can take much more_

_Not if it's dead inside_

She was flawless like uncut ice, she was ice; cold, hard and deadly. _'Hell, I could have sunk the titanic!'_

Gretchen tossed back her head and let out a laugh that sounds strange and disturbing even to her own ears. A knock startled her from her final appraisal of herself as if her ego needed a boost. She sauntered toward the door, her hips sashaying to an imaginary tune. First she glanced through the peephole, then content that it was the bell boy, she opened the door to address the lanky, Hispanic boy. "Yes!" The question was curt, brisk and a silent command, she had no apologies for her reticent behavior. "uh Miss Gretchen Morgan?" He squirmed awkwardly under frigid, aloof eyes, suddenly feeling insignificant under her examination. She reminded him strongly of a scary exam teacher with the intent to destroy. "You have a package!" He pronounced clearly, displaying the professionalism he had been taught but the chin twitched on being confronted with such daunting manner, though he should be used to it.

"A package!" Her eyebrows furrowed reflectively, studying the plain brown box with a cautious eyes. Something about the scenario prickled the hairs on the back of her neck, "Who is it from?" She inquired, forcing nonchalance into her tone.

"Mr James Whistler!" The boy responded, sparing a glance at the label. "Whistler" Gretchen considered the possibility of her partner sending her a package without prior notification, the odds against it was substantial.

"Who really asked you to give to me?"

Gretchen's sharp eyes caught the vacillation the question aroused; thereby she was suspicious as well as forewarned.

"Who really gave you the package?" She insisted brusquely, staking to her dresser. Reaching inside the first drawer, she removed a gun and whipping around, she trained her trusty firearm at the messenger. In some ways she was more 'shoot the messenger type'.

Instinctively, he began to quake in his boots, visibly frightened by her but foremost of the hardened coldness of her eyes.

"Where is he?" voice pitching the staid mercilessness of her nature, an unkind set to her jaw. "I don't know!" He stammered the blood drained from his face in one fluid motion, raising his hands in capitulation, trembling in his shiny black shoes.

"Where is he?" It was practically a snarl that reminded her with astute clarity that she was more nervous about Michael than she let on. "In the elevator!" The boy simpered, terror shimmering in his pupils. He had never been faced by a gun before, in his line of work it wasn't a hazard.

She shoved him inside, stepped into the hall and leaving the door open behind her; she doubted he would have the nerve to steal anything. The hall was deserted, the golden lamps above adding glitter to the wallpaper. Her hand clutched the gun in a death grip, beads of sweat developing on her skittish palm. When she thought of Michael Scofield, her contemplation revolved around his eyes that had frozen to twin steels of hatred, boring into her. This was an intelligent, resolute and innovative man whose core she had burned by supposedly murdering Sara, she was his mortal enemy.

Bracing herself against the wall aside an exotic looking plant, she scouted the territory around the corner. It too was desolate save for the elevator that was open, inside an old man waited patiently beside a dinner cart. He appeared laid-back but she could discern the hints of his restlessness, eyes stared with a strange fixedness at the plant across the hall as beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He practically jumped out of his skin, staring down the shiny steel barrel of her gun and into the vacant eyes of a beautiful woman.

His chapped lips trembled, unable to form coherent words so they moved like a puffer fish instead. The creases around his eyes deepened, his face weighted heavily by weariness. "Did you send me that package?" She demanded an answer, her fingers conspicuously twitching for a victim. Rapidly, he shook his head; fear overshadowing him as he struck the cart backing away from her, then flattened himself against the farthest corner.

"If you didn't!" A patronizing sneer twisted her pretty face, she stepped into the elevator with a waves of glittering silk, "Then who did!" Her hand darted forward and yanked the sheet away, revealing the metal frame. Disappointment sunk to the pit of her stomach, her mind registering the empty dinner cart and the pounding in her heart.

"I did!" A cool, masculine voice shattered the terse silence with his mellifluous proclamation. She felt its hardness before he pressed its coldness into the curve of her spine. His presence send a shivers like waves down her spine as his voice resounded in her ears. "Thank you for your help in capturing this prisoner, the FBI is most grateful for help!" Though she should be more worried about her imminent death, she found herself contemplating how Michael conned the guy into thinking he was with the FBI, could he have managed to trick the whole hotel into being a part of his scheme for retribution.

His body deflated as relief overtook him and he watched mutely as Michael lead her away, on unsteady legs.

"Nice work Michael!" The characteristic huskiness returning, as he marched her to her room. "Shut up, Gretchen!" He growled low in her ear, "We have a long overdue quality time to be spent and I'm not going to waste a second!"

His grip on her shoulder, fingers dug into her bone but she had endured worse, a significant amount so no whisper of discomfort escaped her lips.

Michael slammed the door behind him with a foot, and then flung her onto the bed with a violent shove. She raised herself on her hands, and then flipped around to lean on her elbows, not attempting to fix her dress as she struck a pose.

Instead she stretched her nimble body giving him full view of sheen kissed creamy skin scarcely covered by a dress twisted out of proportion. crimson underwear.

"Michael, I hope you have a good night planned for me!" A sultry, partly playful smirk dancing on her cherry lips, "I honestly didn't get all dressed up for nothing!"

Seductive undercoated the easy gaze she fixed him with. Surreptitiously, He drank in the sight of her, cold ice in his gaze. "Did you kill Sara?" He questioned icily, towering above her , the glittering lamp throwing an ominous shadow over his facile, hardened to stone and as clear-cut.

She simply returned his stare, a fog of contemplation in her eyes. Disgruntled, he cast the room in question a cursory glance, then keeping the gun trained on her lax form he stalked to the curtains. With one hand he removed the rod from the Venetian blinds, testing its taut thickness in his bare palm with dour approval. He stalked back to her, eyes smoldering while she returned his stare with careless complacency, barely giving the object gripped tightly in his hand any acknowledgement.

His hand darted out and gripped her arm brutally spinning her onto her stomach. Pain shot up her arm followed by a numbness but besides a surprised grunt, she elicited no other sounds. _'There will be bruises in the morning!'_

"Did you kill Sara?!" He demanded ferociously, hell spewing at her back that was pinned to the bed by his legs and his body applied sufficient weight on her arm. He can barely hear her breathing over the pulsating of blood in his ears and the sweet rush of rectitude whenever she let loose whispers of pain. He didn't know why he didn't just end it here and now! He needed to hear the words from her own poisoness lips before he willingly and on his own accord took a life. He had endured and persevered for just a taste of the normal life. But the company had been relentless in destroying his humanity piece and piece and by God , he was going to make them pay!

The blood that pumped in his veins was hot murderous rage and his hands itched to wrap around her throat.

His eyes shimmered with a dangerous intensity of abhorrence for her or the crime! The thought passed with nonchalance through her mind and her imminent death flitted in and out of her consciousness, hardly invoking any emotion in her. If she died right here, no one would care and in all things considering, why should she.

But her head was turned sideways, looking blankly at the ornate headboard. Faced with her disregard, whatever little restraint he had snapped inside him. Snorting like a wild bull, he ripped the back material of her dress away. Without waiting another second, the cord snapped in the air. A loud cry of pain burst from her throat that was music to Michael's ears. But the next couple of times she kept her jaw in a lock, barely containing the groans of pain going as far as to hold her breath as he crushed her into the soft bed. He rode on his rage, striking her with every vestige of strength. With every strike, stinging pain followed that erupted into burns and blisters until she felt her back was on fire.

The anger ebbed and flowed until it finally dissipated, leaving him breathing hard with a dull ache in his muscles. Her fingers clutched the mattress in a death grip, the bones protruding against the blanched skin. "Did you kill Sara!" He blinked, the jagged edges of welts intermingled with red aged scars appeared with appalling clarity. "Did you kill Sara?" The desperation seeped into his voice, harsh and bitter. "Did you kill Sara?" He flipped her around and stared piercingly into her eyes, a few stray tears traced a pattern down her pale cheeks. "Did you kill her?" He shook her violently, desperation coated his tone. "Tell me!" He barked at her, "Did you kill Sara! I need to know if you killed her!" Her head bounced up and down on the comforter as her eyes rolled in her head. "TELL ME!" He screamed into her face, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. "No!" She yelped saliva traced a pattern down her chin to drip on her chest, heaving with the exertion of swallowing as much air as she could.

Her eyes flipped open in a deadpanned stare into nothingness. "I didn't kill her! She's safe!" She muttered with a lethargy that seemed ancient and devoid of life. His hands shook as they released their hold on her and she slumped lifelessly into the comforter. Emotions raged on his face, each one fighting for dominance and his eyes reflected his internal struggle to comprehend the happenings of the last few hours. "She is alive!" He breathed quietly, studying her under a careful gaze. Gretchen eyes are shut by an exhaustion that he doubted he had anything to do with. Her brows slacken into a blank unreadable expression that he is accustomed to though it is not as imposing with her perfect makeup smeared across her face. Silently, he rises to his feet barely giving her scars a passing look. "If you're lying to me.." The threat was filled with promises of reckoning though he didn't complete the sentence and it hung in the air like an ominous dense fog. "LJ told me about you." He informed her simply, noting her reaction. She opened her eyes and locked gazes with him, appearing unfazed, on the brink of icy indifference. "He told me what happened to you and I did a little digging on my own" He continued but she didn't respond and neither was he expecting her to. "I'm sorry for what happened to you but you have a choice," He removed the origami crane from his pocket, his fingers outlined its red surface and he spoke with an hollowed, learned inflection, "We all have a choice to become the person we will love or come to despise!" Compassion slipping through his complacent demeanor and because of it, Gretchen turned her focus to the exotic shag carpet, a tinge of disgust joining the nausea rolling in her stomach as a result of the throbbing pain,

With a certain degree of hesitation he placed his creation near her face. "The origami crane means you're watching over that person!" When she spoke, her words bore a bone chilling monotony. He nodded, "Give it to Sara or..keep it for yourself, and I'll give it to Sara later!"

Inexplicably, he bends over her limp frame and brushed his lips with hers. The movement is so sudden and aberrant that she gaped at him in pure astonishment. "Another gift for Sara!" He responded simply, and then turned on his heel and walked away, stopping at the door one hand on the knob, "And my form of apology!" He managed a weak, empathetic grin before leaving the young women in bitter torturous agony. The light shinning on her pale face, scarcely highlighted the ghost of tears.

_The meek will inherit the earth_

_Day will follow night_

_A force unconquerable is the land_

_Where true love presides!_


	2. Chapter 2

AUTHORS NOTE

Dear reviewers,

Thank you for your encouraging reviews and I appreciated the time taken to write them. Back on popular demand, dedicated to all those who took the time to review the story, expect another with the same angst and drama titles. 'Burning, Broken Doves'. It is uploaded now and hope you all enjoy it! Michael and Gretchen pity romance.

Lots of love

Christina pinto


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